Keeping Cover
by Floralia
Summary: Sam and Dean are separated in the middle of a hunt, but when they can’t immediately find each other again they need a little outside help to keep their stories straight.
1. Sam

**Keeping Cover**

**By Floralia**

SUMMARY: Sam and Dean are separated in the middle of a hunt. But when they can't immediately find each other again they need a little outside help to keep their stories straight.

DISCLAIMER: None of the characters here belong to me.

I know I promised a sequel, and I'm working on it, but for some reason when I sat down to write this morning this came out instead. Not quite sure how that happened.

Rated for some slight language in the following chapter.

**Sam**

Pain. Blinding. Complete. A world of it, and the only thing in the world. No sights no smells no sounds. No body even, just the unending hurt. He can't pick it out. Can't distinguish where it's coming from. Can't even feel his own physical presence. Can't tell at first if the pains on the inside or the out.

Noise kicks in and with it the location of his ears. Of his head. Noise is back and he really wishes it wasn't. So loud he can feel his brain throb, sure that any minute it's just going to explode. But there'll be no noise after that.

Voices. Voices but no words, some aimed at him and some not. Floating above him, disembodied. A hand on his shoulder and his body flinches. Jerks. Is aware of itself once more. Can feel it striking the surface beneath him as he tries to break free.

A long drawn out scream. A voice that he recognises, shouting out its pain, its need for tears.

"Dean!"

It's only when it stops to say that name he realises the familiar voice is his own. He feels less solid now it is no longer echoing inside him, and the space it took up quickly fills with a different kind of anguish.

"Dean…" Struggling to get up but his limbs are too uncoordinated. Too heavy. Too weighed down by the lack of a responding shout. Lost in the darkness. But Dean wouldn't leave him here. Wouldn't not be here on purpose. He needs to see the absence for himself, not sure if that's how he works out his eyes are still closed.

The light's almost as blinding as the pain but he won't close them again. Not until he knows for sure. Head puling away from their touch, eyes scanning the white white of the room, nausea rising with each flick, not sure if it's the movement that's causing it or the inability to find what they seek.

Calm voices, hands cupping his face, but he ignores them. The woman leaning over him is young, her eyes are kind. He doesn't think she'll lie to him. An uncoordinated hand shoots out, fists her shirt, draws her close. Hands trying to break her free but his desperation makes him strong. His need is stronger than theirs.

"Dean." He whispers. "Where's..?" the coughing shakes the whole of his body. He's weakening but he has to get this out. "Please, just tell me where he is."

It's the look in her eyes that says it, not her voice. He never hears her voice, might never hear one again. He's bombarded by memory then, perhaps the only one he has, the last one, so blinding in its clarity it has wiped everything before it clean. Two eyes, more familiar than his own, locked on him. Deep pools of fear and surprise, out of place on that face. Wide and staring and the only thing he saw before their decent. A scream that matched his own, only his didn't fade into the black. His wasn't swallowed by time and distance but remained horribly real until long after the other fell silent. Until it turned to blood in his throat.

He needs to be there, he needs to find him, needs to see for himself what he already knows is true. What her eyes tell him. Dean fell, and this time he won't be getting up again. Can't tell if it's his body that's obeying this urge or just his mind. But he does feel the pinch of the needle before the world gives in to blackness once more.

……………………

Floating in clouds. Thick with the numbness. Eyelids flickering but they're fixed together with the strongest glue. Won't break apart. Won't reveal more than a slit of light into his brain.

But there's an ach inside him that the numbness can't touch. The nagging feeling that there's something he's supposed to be doing. Something he forgot.

The effort of opening his eyes all the way leaves him exhausted. The sunlight is thick; the room is bathed in warm honey. But there's one spot it doesn't touch. One shadow. The outline of a figure sat calm and still beside the bed. It freezes him, because he knows in an instant it isn't the one he wants to be there, and the ach grows into the knowledge of why that is.

It takes him almost a year to turn his head in the figures direction, and somewhere along the way his eyes have slipped closed again, so when he blinks it's a surprise to find who he is looking at. His whole body jumps from the surprise of it.

"Bobby?" He's not sure if the question makes it past his mouth. His throat feels so full of cotton wool it probably wouldn't be able to produce a sound, but Bobby's acknowledging him non the less, shifting forwards in his seat to greet him.

And his eyes are stern. There's something in there he's never seen before. Face tense. There's sympathy but there's something else. He doesn't speak, only stares, and he's not sure why but that brings with it the certainty the other man is here to kill him.

"It wasn't my fault." But they both know he's lying. Eyes flick desperately to the doorway for a way out. Not to escape death, he doesn't care about that. Bobby can do as he pleases but he will not let him touch him until he has seen his brother first. Until he has visual confirmation of what he has done. After that Bobby won't even need to lay a finger on him to finish the job.

Three people in while coats walk into the room and Bobby glances at them in frustration, but he knows they won't save him. They will only drug him again. They will only make Bobby's task so much easier. Will deny him his last moment with Dean. The only thing he can think of to do is to find Dean before any one of them reaches him.

"No." he threatens, but his voice is so weak it isn't going to stop anyone. "Please, I have to see Dean… I need… I have to see him." He's appealing to the one here to put the bullet between his eyes but Bobby is perhaps the only one who might understand that need.

He's half out of the bed when the doctor says it. He'd beyond wobbly, the room is hurricaning around him, but even if it wasn't he would not have been able to hear those words and stand.

"Dean isn't here. He's dead Sam, remember?"

Knees buckle and he's falling into the arms of the one he's trying to avoid. Bobby falls with him to the ground, supports his sob, voice extraordinarily gentle but he knows that's only for show. "Dean died a year ago Sam, remember?" One hand is rubbing his back, the other tilting his chin so Bobby can look him in the eyes, can convey a deeper meaning he knows is there but is too broken to understand. "Dean died in St Louis, okay. That's why he isn't here."

The tone and hands are supposed to be reassuring. He's aware enough to know that. But they are telling him his brother is dead and he doesn't know how to make that a comfort. But he knows it's true, and there's no fight in him left. Slumping forwards against a solid presence, but it's not the one he needs.

He wants to shout and scream and beg, but he knows that will come. That if he waits for the fog to clear he will be able to do it properly. Do it justice. So he gives in to the comfort while it is offered, sure that any minute it's going to turn into anger or scorn. Dean died to save him. They both know that. They both know he isn't worth that price. Will die anyway now. Might even take the ones he loves with him. But that will come. Now there's just the steady sound of the other man's heartbeat beneath his ear, faster than he might have expected. Not the rhythm he wants to hear, but soothing none the less.

Sliding. Sliding down into darkness. Or remaining still. He can't tell which. It doesn't matter though. He knows that this time Bobby will catch him before he hits the ground.

………………………

The first thing he sees when his eyes open again is Bobby. He's back in bed, positioned so the other man is in his direct line of sight. A warning?

Bobby's silent but knows he's awake. He can see it in the tensing of a jaw, the narrowing of eyes. Ready. Afraid he's going to charge again. The thought would have made him laugh if he could remember how. If there was any room left for that. Left for anything that wasn't the hollow void he feels.

"The police have been waiting for you to wake up for about the last hour." Bobby tells him at last. "They're just outside the door. You never make things easy do you?"

He's doing it again. That thing with his eyes. Trying to convey a meaning that's too elusive. That his mind is too slippery to grasp onto.

"The police?" he croaks. Why would Bobby call the police? He deals in his own brand of justice.

"They want to ask you about the _mugging_." He explained patiently as two officers walk into the room. "About what exactly you thought you were doing being _stupid_ enough to walk that deserted road at night. _Alone." _Bobby's eyes are boring into his with a fierce intensity, but when he rounds on the officers he's all smiles. He stands up to vacate his chair to let the two policemen close to the bed. They have notebooks open to take his statement.

"Okay Mr cooper, this shouldn't take long."

"Huh?" Who the hell is Cooper? Bobby sits down on the end of his bed with a sigh and pats his leg through the covers with a comforting cajole that doesn't match the expression in his eyes.

"It's okay kid. Just tell the officers what you remember about the attack. I'm sure they're very busy. You just tell them what you know, and then they can be on their way."

The grip on his ankle isn't comforting. It's too hard for that. But it's grounding. Keeping him focused. Bobby wants him to play along so these men can leave. He supposes it would be hard to kill him in a room full of cops. But he's not sure if that's just it. He sighs and looks at Bobby, eyes wide and pleading, not sure what he's supposed to do.

Bobby sighs too, but he's smiling softly now and the grip on his leg has gone from firm to reassuring again.

"We can come back later. Wait until you're feeling stronger. But the sooner you tell us what you know the more chance we have of catching this guy."

He's about to agree. He can see that Bobby is nodding his consent. His eyes are closed and he looks suddenly weary but he's giving his consent to let him let the officers leave. But something's clicking vaguely into place. Attack. A mugging. That's what the other incidents had been blamed on. It doesn't really matter what he says, the police aren't going to find anyone. And perhaps they would be better off with the police gone. He might be safer with them here but he can't ask about Dean until they leave.

"No, it's okay." He finds his voice. He focuses on the 'alone' in Bobby's words. He knows what that meant. Don't drag Dean down in your folly. And he _is_ alone now, although it's hard to feel it with the weight of the other man sinking into his bed. The hand still rubbing his ankle. The soft, amused, slightly proud smile he sees when he catches the other man's eye during the telling of his story.

By the time the police leave he's exhausted again. He's too tired to keep his eyes open any longer but he did what the other man wanted, whether he fully understands why or not. Surely that deserves some kind of a reward.

"Will you let me see Dean now?" he whispers into the growing blackness. He needs confirmation he will be allowed a proper goodbye.

"As soon as you wake." Bobby promises, and the smile follows him into darkness.


	2. Dean

**Dean**

God it hurt. It hurt even to breath, but when he tried not doing that it hurt too. He was sure there must be a reason behind the pain. There usually was. But he couldn't for the life of him fathom what it might be. Maybe if he opened his eyes he would be given some kind of clue.

A quick shift from blackness into Technicolor night and the vertigo was overpowering. Face first staring at a dark void into nothingness before him, spinning and spiralling like someone was playing with the focus. Like there was a Hitchcock film in his head. One look at it and he instantly recoiled, but then the ground gave way and he was slipping, sliding into the nothingness.

With a confused yell of fear he rapped his arms and legs around the narrow surface he was lying on, slowing his fall. Rough bark cut into his cheek as he pressed on for dear life. Twigs dug into his ribs, leaves tickling his nose, playing with his hair. He pried an eye open again and tried to make sense of this new knowledge.

He was in a tree.

He was in a frigging tree. Suspended over a two hundred foot drop into what sounded like the blackness of water beneath him.

"Huh."

He moved tentatively. Despite he general aches of his miracle landing he didn't appear to be hurt. He manoeuvred himself until he was sitting upright, straddling the branch that had broken his fall. Staring up the jagged cliff face he could make out the road some 30 feet above him. The night was less dark in that direction. It was shattered by the glowing of red and blue lights. The distant clatter of voices. The wail of sirens.

The police were here. Possibly looking for him. An ambulance? That would be nice right about now. The spirit? It had done its work; it would probably be long gone now. Until tomorrow night at least. There was something else up there too though. Something obvious he was missing.

"Oh shit. Sam."

His mind cleared in an instant. Sam was already down when he'd fell. His shotgun had already gone over and he was struggling to rise. That was why he'd stepped in. To try and get the spirit away from his brother, to buy him the time to compose himself once more. He'd kind of forgotten in the adrenaline rush of that moment that he'd been standing at the edge of a cliff at the time. He knew Sam had seen him fall, but after that he knew nothing. Didn't even know how long ago that had been.

Who had called the police to the scene? It wouldn't have been Sam, and he knew now with a cold certainty that the ambulance wasn't for him.

There was more cursing then. The battle to get the panic under control. He had to get off this cliff, out of this tree. If the police found him here they'd help him up, but they'd also be convinced he was responsible for the attacks. After all, he was either dead or a serial killer. He had trouble keeping track of which.

There was a vague path leading upwards and away from the scene of his fall. Taking a deep breath and willing himself not to look down he began the slow and steady climb back to solid ground, dragging himself forwards on protesting arms, willing the sound of sirens to mask the shifting of rocks, his grunts of exertion, the pounding of his heart that he knew would only calm when he found out what that thing had done to his brother. What he'd allowed it to do by leaving them alone together.

He finally swung his legs over the side, rolling up onto level ground, collapsing panting into the long grass, watching the shadows in the distance, the movement of people against the flashing lights. Searching for any sign of Sam. A gurney was raised onto the back of the ambulance and he didn't need binoculars, didn't need any kind of confirmation other than his instincts, his big brother alarm senses to know who was in that van. Who was being taken away from him.

He was cursing again. But the sirens were still blaring as the ambulance moved away, which was a good thing. There would be no need to hurry if Sam was already dead. But if the last thing his brother had seen was him falling backwards into nothingness, then that was not a good thing. That was potentially a very real problem.

The police were still searching. They would be at the hospital too. They would need to talk to Sam. Ask him what had happened. His face had been on the news again last night. Sam had scolded him and told him to be more careful. He had just laughed. He wasn't laughing now. His face would not be allowed anywhere near his brother after this.

Sam was no longer here so there was no reason for him to stay. He moved away silently into the night, glad for once that they had walked and he had not left the searching police his car. There was no way he could go to him, but there was no way he could leave Sam to wake up alone either.

With trembling fingers he pulled out his phone.

…………………………

"Dean?"

"Tell me you haven't left yet?"

"I'm just loading the car now, why?"

"I need your help."

"What happened to 'it's straight forward, we got this one'?"

"That was before it threw me off the cliff."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"Shit."

"I know, tell me about it."

"You okay? Where are you? Just stay there, I'm on my way."

"No. I need you to go find Sam. You have to go to the hospital and find Sam."

"Hospital? What happened?"

"I don't know, but they were carting him off in an ambulance when I got back up here."

"Dean, I know you're probably not going to appreciate this, but try not to panic okay. None of the other victims were killed. They just got… knocked about a bit."

"Yeah. But you know Sammy. He's always been an over achiever."

"Yeah, well hang tight and I'll come and get you. We can go find him together."

"No. This place is swarming with cops. I can't be seen here. Not now. They'll either order an autopsy or arrest me. I need… He's gonna be alone. He saw me fall and now he's gonna be alone. You've got to try and make him understand why I'm not there. If he tells them I was here… I don't know. If he gets them dredging the river for me or something this isn't going to end well for any of us. Just… he has to stick to the story. If he has concussion as bad as the others he probably doesn't remember the story."

"Okay, I'm on it."

"Tell them you're looking for Sam Cooper. He should still have the collage ID on him. Tell them you had a fight and he took off. Said he was walking back to the dorm but you can't get hold of him now. Then you remembered he had to walk past the rise to get there, and you're worried after the other attacks. You need to…"

"Dean. _I_ don't have concussion. I remember the story."

"Okay. Sorry. Just… let him know I'm okay. That I'll be in to see him when the police have gone, but until he gets rid of them I'm going to have to stay away. But I won't be far away."

"Alright."

"And call me. When you find out how he is. Call me."

"Okay. Hold tight. I'll talk to you soon."

…………………………

He was sitting in the car. He had the heating on but he couldn't seem to get warm. The sun was long up. No one had passed him in scuba gear yet so he figured they weren't looking for him in the water, but Bobby was yet to call him back. Surely it didn't take this long to figure out someone was fine. Bruised but fine.

A sharp ringing interrupted his thoughts.

"What the hell's going on?"

"Well hello to you too."

"Bobby. Are you with him? Is he okay?"

"He's fine. I'm sat with him now."

"Put him on." He'd never needed to hear that voice more in his life. Sleep filled and weary as it would no doubt be and his heart might just break at the sound of it, but he needed to hear it all the same.

"I can't right now. He's asleep." Bobby sounded a little sheepish.

"What happened?"

"They may have drugged him a little bit. We had a bit of a freak out. He was already asking for you before I got here. You're his cousin and you're dead. He's not really taking that news too well."

"Bur you managed to explain things to him right?" he was desperate for some kind of reassurance.

"I'm on it. I haven't had a moment alone with him yet. He woke up pretty confused. I think the only thing he really remembers is that you're dead, and he's pretty upset that I won't let him see you. Luckily every time he gets worked up about it someone sedates him before he can say too much. He's sleeping it off. Should be slightly more rational when he wakes."

"But apart from that he's okay?"

"He got conked on the head pretty good. That's why he's so loopy. His hands back in plaster again I'm sure you'll be pleased to know, but there's no serious damage. Keeps looking at me like he expects me to sprout a third eye or something, but it's nothing rest won't fix."

He let out a sigh he was surprised didn't blow the other man away as it passed through the phone. He was suddenly so weary. So very aware that he had been up all night. Spent more of it than he'd have liked in a tree.

He nodded and smiled and lent against the seat, warming his face in the sun, sinking deeper into the upholstery at the knowledge of a disaster averted. The worry and strain leaving him he could feel his mind beginning to shut down, giving in to the sleep his uncertainty had denied him. The ringing phone would wake him when it was time to move again, when it was time to resume his place at his brother's side, but until then he was off duty. He had left a capable stand in in charge. He would let his eyes drift closed and give in to the same darkness they had forced on Sam.

………………………………

How did he always manage to look about five in sleep? Was it some in built little brother defence mechanism to ensure a fight never lasted until morning, because honestly, how could you look at that sleeping face and feel anger? Frustration, exasperation, occasionally fear, guilt, dread and paralysing inadequacy. But never anger.

Today it was perhaps a mixture of all of the above. He tried not to be worried about the fact he was still sleeping but to instead find some small level of comfort in the knowledge it allowed he and Bobby to both keep their word. He would be here, Bobby would let Sam see him, and he would be the first thing those eyes took in as they slowly…

Fluttered...

Awake…

THE END.


End file.
